


But I Believe In You And Me

by tookumade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki would be eighteen soon. It wasn’t as though he expected things to be much different from being seventeen, but still, he would only be eighteen once so he might as well try to enjoy it, even if he was fighting with one of the people he cared about the most.</p><p>(or, a Hanamaki birthday fic, but he and Matsukawa are stubborn and childish doofuses)</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Believe In You And Me

**Author's Note:**

> *dashes in 2 hours late in my timezone, trips over half the furniture in the room, commando-rolls very badly over a worn-out rug, bangs shoulder against a chair* HAPPY—*wheeze*—BIRTHDAY—*wheeze*—HANAMAKI! \o/

January 26th had been a bad day for Hanamaki, which was really not something he needed leading up to his birthday the next day.  
  
He had had a fight with Matsukawa—a disagreement during lunchtime over something stupid relating to their English project. Somehow, it had got out of hand, and they had reduced themselves to raising their voices at each other with genuine anger, and their usually unmalicious “dumbass!” insults had far more bite than usual. They might have even taken it up a notch, if not for Iwaizumi and Oikawa grabbing Hanamaki and Matsukawa respectively and hauling them away from each other for a bit of cool-down time.  
  
Urgh, he didn’t want to think about it anymore. It hadn’t been anything worth fighting over in the first place, and the way they had both reacted was so embarrassing and petty.  
  
Hanamaki tossed a volleyball up and down restlessly as he sat in his room. He and Matsukawa had completely avoided looking at each other during their shared fifth period Japanese class, and then walked home separately. He hated that; they usually walked home together as often as they could, because it felt right, and it was a part of their day that they both enjoyed. Walking together meant that they could also huddle and hold hands as they walked (and throw snow at each other every now and then, or just scuffle playfully for the hell of it), which made the biting cold weather a little more bearable. Walking by himself today made the journey home seem longer and quieter and definitely colder than usual.  
  
The thought of apologising came to mind more than once, but he wasn’t sure how. They hadn’t ever fought like this, so he had no point of reference to go by. He had overheard Iwaizumi tell Oikawa (who hadn’t seemed all that worried either, now that Hanamaki thought about it) that, “It’s okay, they’re simple-minded idiots, they’ll be fine”, but that didn’t really help them, and what the hell was he even talking about, anyway?  
  
Hanamaki stopped tossing the volleyball and stared at his phone beside him. He could call Matsukawa up and say sorry, but he didn’t want the apology to be insincere, because truth be told, he was still feeling a little annoyed—both at Matsukawa and at himself for being such a brat.  
  
He threw the volleyball against the wall, and a second later heard his mother shout “ _No sports indoors, Takahiro!_ ” and he decided to go to sleep.  
  
Hanamaki tucked himself into bed and pulled the covers around him snugly. It was close to midnight now (he had done a lot of sulking over that dumbass Matsukawa this evening), and he watched as his digital clock’s numbers drew closer and closer. He’d be eighteen soon. It wasn’t as though he expected things to be much different from being seventeen, but still, he would only be eighteen once so he might as well try to enjoy it, even if he was fighting with one of the people he cared the most about.  
  
His clock read midnight. It was the 27th. He was now eighteen, and–  
  
His phone was ringing.  
  
Squinting through the darkness, he grabbed it off his bedside table and stared at the screen. Matsukawa was calling him.  
  
Hanamaki wasn’t entirely sure why, because he wasn’t sulking as much anymore, but he rejected the call anyway. Freshly eighteen, but still stubborn as hell. He’d have to grow out of it soon–  
  
His phone rang a second time, and it was Matsukawa again, and without really thinking, Hanamaki rejected the call and immediately regretted it. What was he calling for at this time? With curiosity getting the better of him, Hanamaki made to call him back before receiving a text message.  
  
 **From: Matsukawa Issei**  
12:01am: [ _I’m outside, can you come out, it’s really cold_ ]  
  
“Oh my _god_ ,” Hanamaki hissed and switched on his room’s lights, and changed into thicker pants and sweaters and a heavy coat. He wrapped a scarf around his neck as he made his way through the house and outside, and sure enough, Matsukawa was standing there, shivering, with one hand in his coat pocket and the other hand clutching something Hanamaki couldn’t see.  
  
“Are you kidding me?” said Hanamaki, squinting at him with more annoyance than he usually would. “What was so important that it couldn’t wait until–”  
  
“Happy birthday.” Matsukawa handed him the thing he was holding: a neatly wrapped profiterole from Hanamaki’s favourite bakery.  
  
Hanamaki stared at it, then stared at Matsukawa, then stared back at the profiterole, then back at Matsukawa.  
  
“Seriously?” he spluttered. “You came all the way here in the middle of the night—in cold-as-shit _winter_ , by the way—just to give me this?”  
  
Matsukawa shoved his now-free hand into his other pocket and dropped his gaze to the ground.  
  
“Your eighteenth only comes once, and you’re going to get a crap-load of these from the others, so I wanted to be the first,” he said quietly. “I could arm-wrestle everyone else to be first, but I don’t think I would do that well.”  
  
Hanamaki made a noise of disbelief and a gesture of exasperation, and he felt any remaining anger at Matsukawa leave him entirely.  
  
“Oh my god,” he said again. “Oh my god, you dumbass, come here.” And he pulled Matsukawa close and put his arms around his neck, still holding onto his favourite snack. Matsukawa wrapped his arms around his waist, and they stood there in silence for a while. It had only been half a day since their fight, but those twelve hours seemed to have stretched on for a much longer time, and they realised now that they already missed each other.  
  
“I thought we were still fighting,” Hanamaki mumbled into Matsukawa’s shoulder.  
  
Matsukawa winced. “Still?”  
  
“I guess not.”  
  
“I mean, we _can_ , because I still think Nagao-sensei said–”  
  
“ _No_. No, no, no,” said Hanamaki, but he knew from his tone that Matsukawa was joking, and he grinned a little this time. “No more of that crap. I’ve decided I really hate fighting with you— _actually_ being angry at you—more than anyone else, so… I’m sorry. We’ll handle things better next time.”  
  
Matsukawa buried his face a little deeper into his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “We were really embarrassing. _Oikawa_ was giving us judgmental looks.”  
  
“Don’t remind me. Iwaizumi called us ‘simple-minded idiots’.”  
  
“Oh my god, we _really_ screwed up.”  
  
They were laughing softly now, and it felt right, it felt warm, and the cold hardly bothered them.  
  
“Happy birthday.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Simple-minded idiots. Yeah, they were fine.  
  
—————


End file.
